The Feeling is Mutual
by GalileaMICKEY
Summary: Something has been annoying Al, giving him a short-temper. Rachel, being Rachel, annoys him with things that would normally just make him roll his eyes, but now he feels like wrapping his thick fingers around her throat. What's gotten Al so irritable?
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN THE HOLLOWS!**

_**Okay, this occurs after Trouble on Reserve, and contains spoilers. This fanfic doesn't necessarily have anything to do with the little Rachel/Trent short story, accept that it inspired Al's weekly teaching session. This is a strictly Ral fanfic. You've been warned! **_

_**Enjoy:)**_

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**Rachel's POV**

"Student," my demon teacher, Algaliarept, bellowed in his usual English accent. "Watch what you're doing!"

I yelped when his gloved-fingers pinched my elbow, which had been a hair away from knocking over a bottled curse meant to incinerate anything it touched. That the little glass bottle containing it seemed to be immune was beyond me. Today's lesson consisted of me twisting a curse that was a ball of fire hotter than the sun and turned to dust whatever - or, whomever - the hell it's aimed at. I didn't want to have such a powerful curse inside of me just ready to be unleashed on some poor bastard, but Al doesn't give a damn of my petty, retarded feelings. His words.

A little over a week ago, while I was working a crap-run of filling in for Quen as Trent's security, Rynn Cormel had set two assassins on my ass. Well, I think it was Cormel. Who else would send vampire assassins to kill me? And it was me they were after, not Trent as I had thought at first. But that was what stomped me. That vampire was going to kill me, and Cormel needs me alive so I can save his soul, or find it, whatever. So, why would he kill me?

Nevertheless, Al found out two days later while he was in my head, bringing the tulpa I had created out of my head, and said that he was going to spend our next session together having me twist curse after curse of things that would save me should I be attacked again. It was either that, or I stayed with him, so I tried not to complain.

Yanking my arm out of his hard grip, I crossed my arms and snapped, "I wasn't going to knock it over."

"And I'm supposed to believe that, dove?" he said with a sarcastic slur.

"Yes, you are."

Al huffed and turned his back on me to mess with the other curses he had me twist. Since I got here five hours ago, I swear he'd been looking for excuses to bitch me. "Don't do that!" "Don't mix it until you've added the ashes!" "Hold that gently!" I could tell he was pissed at someone else and was taking it out on me simply because I was the one around he could pester at. I was convenient. It grated on me, and I had confronted him about it, but he simply snarled at me and claimed that the only bother he had was me.

_Well_, I thought, _the feeling was mutual._

I shook my head and went back to writing the stupid inscription Al had me copying. When I was done, I didn't even bother to ask him if it was _passable_. It looked just fine to me. Reaching over to grab the mixture of cremation ashes, candle shavings, salt, and charcoal dust, I froze when I felt Al's bare hand touch the small of my back that my reaching over had exposed.

"Careful, my itchy witch," he breathed right into my freaking ear.

I gulped, and I knew he had heard as he chuckled, his breath warming my neck. I placed my hands flat on the table, a bit annoyed and scared. "I know Newt withdrew her threat to kill you if I slept with you, but that doesn't mean we are going to start having sex." I whispered between my teeth, trying to go for a vehement tone, and failing, instead sounding like I was unsure. Damn it. Weeks back since Newt gave Al the go ahead to screw me, he has been . . . rubbing me the wrong way. Getting too close to comfort, wiping non-existent this and that from my lips, brushing up against me, etc.

"You're no fun to play with," Al sighed, and pushed away from me. I exhaled in relief, my stiff shoulders relaxing.

I pulled my my shirt straight as he moved his attention from making me uncomfortable and inspected my work so far. He mmm'd that infuriating mmm that teachers tended to make when they catch you making a mistake. "What?" I asked, doing my best to keep the annoyance out of my voice, but a hint slipped through.

His red-goat eyes held my normal green eyes, and said, "You misspelled _flagro_, Rachel."

_To be on fire_, I silently translated, then snapped, "Let me see."

Grinning like he enjoyed making me look like an idiot, he handed the paper to me. I snatched it out of his grasp and looked for myself. My cheeks flared up in chagrin when I saw I had indeed misspelled _flagro_. Damn it. I'd just given him another reason to bitch at me.

"This is why you have me approve everything you do before you complete a curse," he criticized. "If you'd burnt this and then tossed the ashes into that mix, you'd have either exploded yourself, or my kitchen!"

Gritting my teeth, I grabbed the blank sheet of paper Al was handing over to me. I set it down and picked up the ugly, naked-woman-withering-in-pain knife. I ran the sharp blade over the already-there cut that had stopped bleeding. I'd made that for my, ah, other inscription. Blood pooled anew, and grimacing at the demon watching me, I gripped the feather pen and dipped it into my personal ink. I was three words in re-writing the whole damn inscription when Al grunted. "We wouldn't want another incident like Krathion, would we, itchy witch?"

Ire spiked high in me, and I pointed my throbbing, bleeding finger at him. "That wasn't my fault!"

He leaned over the black marble counter, his palm flat against the dark surface. "It was you bloody fault and you know it."

"Was not," I raged, not caring that I sounded like a five-year-old. "You left me alone with Krathion! If you'd told me that it was a soul in the first place, none of it would have ever happened!" Before I could take a calming breath, a fisted white glove swung my way, and everything went dark.


	2. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE HOLLOWS, AS IF IT WASN'T OBVIOUS:)**

_**Here is a look into Al's thoughts. Hope y'all love it as much as I do **_

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**AL'S POV**

The feel of his hard knuckles connecting with her soft cheek sent a shudder throughout his body. He watched her head as it snapped back and her curvy body as it went limp. Unable to just let her fall onto his cold, marble floor, he moved with a speed that shamed lightning, and caught her. He held her to his chest, and with the ease of blinking, jumped them to her room.

The twenty candles that were hung, five on each of the four, concrete-solid, insidious walls, were lit with barely a thought as Algaliarept moved towards his, er, her bed. He lay her down on one side as gently as he could manage, and fluffed the pillow until it seemed comfortable enough to rest her head on. A ghost of a smile appeared on his mouth as he gazed at her still form fondly.

The goose-flesh that had begun to form on the skin of her bare arms made the small upward curve of his lips to cast down into a frown. He glanced around himself, quickly finding the grey blanket that lay folded neatly at the far-corner of the foot of the massive bed. Impatient, he popped the soft fabric into his hand. A barely-there tingle ran over his body, and he knew a rather small, insignificant drop of smut was decorating his overly painted soul. After he'd spread out the blanket, he covered his itchy witch's slumbering body. Satisfied when she slowly stretched her long limbs out, he sat next her, his heavy weight pulling her towards him.

His frown reappeared, though, as he came to notice the drop of blood at the corner of her mouth. Guilt ate at him as he wiped it away with the tip of his gloved finger. Bloody hell, he hadn't meant to hit her. Well, truth be spoken, he had, but she had been fucking asking for it. Of course, she didn't deserve to be smacked into unconsciousness. As soon as he'd seen her pupils dilate, the rage that filled him dissipated and he'd regretted punching her. He growled at himself, at his inability to control his temper, and at the slight swelling of her left cheek. Purple dots sprinkled along her cheekbone, cheek, and jaw. In about an hour, or so, that was going to be a beautiful, big bruise.

Sighing, he drew a ley line symbol in the air and sent the basic healing curse her way. He gazed at her face as it took hold, the bruise-in-the-making disappearing and the swelling easing. The little imperfections on her face vanished as well to leave a creamy, rosy complexion, and the red of her hair became more vibrant, more alive. Her curls were thicker and fluffier. Unable to resist, he took his blood-stained glove off, and stroked her healed cheek. Her skin was so soft, so smooth, against his rough fingers.

Something that was not unexpected fluttered deep in his chest, and he rolled his eyes. Fucking damn _feelings _of his. He couldn't talk himself into thinking that all he wanted was sex with her anymore. Not after he was a pathetic mess, thinking that she was dead for a good five months. It was all so . . . so stupid.

He shook his head to rid it of such thoughts and, after caressing Rachel's soft cheek forlornly, jumped himself to his spelling kitchen. Giving one long look around the room, he grunted and grimaced at the mess that had been left behind. It was times such as these when owning a familiar would have been convenient for him. He had gotten, well, not used to, more like accepted the fact that he did not own a familiar. But it annoyed him that he was now acting familiar to his itchy witch in that he was cleaning up after her. 'Course, it was somewhat his fault this time that she unable to do so because she was currently knocked the fuck out by him.

As he poured her unfinished curse into a crystal vial the size of his thumb, he felt the fury from before begin to resurface. If only he could make himself go back to the bedroom and punch her again, but he bit back his anger and locked her curse inside one of his cabinets.

Fucking hell, if only he could will himself to be furious at her. Sure, he was fucking pissed, but not at her. How could he be? Yes, she'd snapped back at him, but it wasn't the first time she has, and he never slapped her for it, much less punched her. Her shock when she saw his fist coming fast at her face mirrored his exactly. Why did he have to hit her? He hasn't harmed her once since he forced a kiss between them. Taking a deep breath that moved his shoulders, he willed the anger out of his system, and focused on tidying up his kitchen.

Her blood-written inscriptions went into the fireplace, and they immediately curled into themselves and burned away. His feather quill, after the tip had been rinsed, and ink were placed back in a drawer. (Though his itchy witch had used her blood to write with, Algaliarept had used the ink to write down the instructions for the curse she was twisting.) The blank sheets of paper went into the same drawer as his writing equipment. The spelling ingredients were put away in cabinets and jars. Through with that, he popped over a rag from his other kitchen, and wiped down the marble counter. Afterwards, he tossed it into the fire as well.

Finished with cleaning up, he collapsed onto the bench near the hearth. He wasn't necessarily tired, but what with all the quiet thinking of the inevitable future complications him and his itchy witch were going to face together, he felt he needed a nap. Hell, he _deserved _one.

He stood, but fell back. Mother pus bucket! What about Rachel? He couldn't fall asleep while she slept. What if she woke before him? She'd be stuck in her room 'til he was awake. Then again, she'd make such loud complains and wake him. He didn't think he could handle it if she woke him up. Hell's bells, he'd knock her the fuck out again and fall right back to sleep.

So, with good intentions, nothing more, he jumped to her. She looked the same as when he had left her, besides that her head was now facing the other way and an arm was hanging out from the edge of the bed. The empty space next to her looked so inviting, and he replaced his usual eighteenth century attire to his rarely worn silk pajama pants. He didn't own a pajama shirt because, quite frankly, he preferred sleeping nude. That he even bothered with pants said a lot.

He walked to the opposite side, and climbed into the empty spot. He stretched his legs and arms out, sighing in bliss as the mattress adjusted to his body. Oh, how he missed his bed. His current closet-sized room was to tiny to fit it in, unless he didn't mind having a little under a foot of floor space. As he rolled onto his side, he thought maybe it'd be worth it. His itchy witch could bring her own damn bed.

He now faced Rachel, and he reached over to play with a red strand of hair. Mindful that she was a light sleeper, he twirled her curls around his digit gently. Unable to help his wondering eyes, he ran his gaze down the length of her slender neck, and the steady rise and fall of her chest. He inhaled deeply and averted his eyes.

Looking down at her clothes, he thought that it must be awfully uncomfortable for her to be in them. With her curl still wrapped around his finger, he changed her into her usual sleep wear that were, unfortunately for him, black pajama bottoms and a thin, red camisole. She stirred slightly, and he held himself still long enough for her to relax.

Minutes later, he still lay there next to her, completely awake. His thoughts kept interrupting him, as they have most nights, troubling him. His itchy witch had caught on in that he wasn't truly mad at her, and she had questioned him of it. Dick as he was, he denied it, and snarled at her. He knew why he was so short-tempered, and it wasn't Rachel. It was the other fucking, bloody demons that were forcing him to do something he was unprepared for. Newt was set against it, as was Dali, sort of. Of course, Rachel was being kept in the dark, and he was going to keep it that way.

He yawned, his breath shifting the hair that had fallen in his itchy witch's face. Her nose twitched. Burying his face into his pillow, he closed his eyes. Blessedly, he fell asleep, her red curl still between his fingers.

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**_So, I hope y'all liked it. Let me know what you think! _**


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